<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>For Whom Do You Fight by thesparklingone</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447324">For Whom Do You Fight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesparklingone/pseuds/thesparklingone'>thesparklingone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And lies to himself, And the WoL will have none of it, Angst, Being the WoL kinda sucks honestly, Character Study, Estinien is a mess, Gen, Pining, Post 5.2, Walking and talking, What are friends for but kicking your ass</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:34:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,966</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447324</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesparklingone/pseuds/thesparklingone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warrior of Light and the Azure Dragoon may have similar histories, but only one of them can choose a future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood (implied), Warrior of Light &amp; Estinien Wyrmblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>For Whom Do You Fight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started as me basically trying to shove as many of my favorite game in-jokes as I could into a single scene, and then it turned into an entire thing. Oops.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of all the lands of Eorzea the isle of Vylbrand remained the one in which he had passed the least time, so toward Vylbrand it was that his feet carried him, first to the ferry at Vesper Bay, and then through Limsa Lominsa and out into the windswept chaparral of coastal La Noscea. In a strange way it reminded him of the Coerthan Highlands before the Calamity—a rugged landscape of tough gnarled trees and sharp winds—though Vylbrand was far warmer than Coerthas had ever been, and here the air bore down redolent of sea salt and dry earth, not grass and mountain frost.</p><p>He wondered if the Admiral’s reformed seamen had ever considered taking up shepherding.</p><p>He’d wandered as far south as he could go and ended up at the Moraby Drydocks, at the edge of the world with nothing but blue waters to the horizon. He would turn around and go back to Limsa Lominsa, or perhaps pay a visit to Camp Bronze Lake and its famed hot springs, but where next to travel was a decision that could be delayed. For now he had no matters more pressing than to enjoy the fine weather at a table overlooking the sea with a pint of ale. As far as pastimes went there were far worse, and well did he know it.</p><p>One of the island ferries was docking, bobbing up and down on the waves as it slowed in approach and its skipper swung it around to align with the pier. Sailors’ voices drifted across the water as they laughed and cursed and tossed the ropes to each other. Not so very different from a company of young knights, the way they carried on, really. He could very well imagine the boasts and the oaths they would be bandying about, though perhaps more along the lines of <em> I know a lad of ten summers who can tie that knot faster </em> than <em> My chocobo could wield that sword with more grace</em>. ‘Twas all the same, though. The brash and the young were brash and young everywhere.</p><p>“Is this what passes for having business to attend to, now?” The voice startled him out of his reverie, a voice he knew well from long journeys and desperate battles, but one he had not expected to hear again for a while, at least. An old comrade by now, he supposed, the Warrior of Light.</p><p>“You must really be distracted,” she continued, sitting across from him. She plopped her heavy arcane tome on the table with a thud. “I walked the whole way up the pier in full view. I half expected you to up and disappear before I got to the promenade.”</p><p>He grunted. He was aware of his reputation, but it stung a little nonetheless that she would expect him to flee. She was one of the few people whose presence he welcomed. Usually.</p><p>“Chatty as ever, Estinien,” she said, green eyes twinkling. “Do you mind if I join you? I shall go if you prefer.”</p><p>He shook his head. “You are welcome to stay.” He paused. “‘Tis good to see you.”</p><p>She smiled. “And you. What brings you all the way out to the far reaches of Lower La Noscea? Besides fear of being indentured by Tataru, I mean.”</p><p>He glared at her. “I could ask the same of you.”</p><p>“You forget, I am a lieutenant of the Maelstrom,” she replied. “I was overdue to host training exercises on Hullbreaker Isle.”</p><p>He had indeed forgotten. So much she was always about, this warrior. She reminded him of Aymeric that way.</p><p>“What are you drinking?” she asked.</p><p>“Ale,” he answered, looking into the tankard. “...Of some sort.”</p><p>“Didn’t even look at the menu, did you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Well, with Aleport up the road a ways, at least it’s hard to go wrong.” She flagged down a barkeep and ordered her own drink, a bowl of seafood soup, and a plate of calamari. When it all arrived a few minutes later, she shoved the plate into the center of the table, much to his surprise.</p><p>“A little dragon told me it’s a favorite,” she said. “Help yourself.”</p><p>“You’ve been talking to Orn Khai, I take it.”</p><p>“Aye,” she replied. “And Ser Alberic.” She paused, raising an eyebrow at him.</p><p>Discomfort shot through his gut at the mention of his foster-father. The last time he had seen him was not a memory he wished to relive, though his current company had also been present for that sorry moment. Indeed, by this point he had few secrets when it came to the Warrior of Light, either thanks to her damnable Echo or simple bad luck. ‘Twas perhaps a testament to her charisma that he yet enjoyed her company, because as soon as he started to think about all the humiliating moments of his life to which she had borne witness he began to crave about three more pints of ale, or maybe three of whiskey.</p><p>For want of anything better to do, he stuffed a piece of calamari in his mouth. It was battered and fried, unlike the seared Hingan squid he’d grown to like in Kugane, but it was crunchy and salty and good, nonetheless. For some reason it seemed embarrassing to have enjoyed it.</p><p>“Passably delicious, I hope?” she asked him.</p><p>“‘Tis good,” he mumbled. “Thank you.”</p><p>She waved her hand. “I just got paid handsomely for my services to the Maelstrom. I can well afford to take pity on a hungry, coin-starved adventurer.”</p><p>Estinien froze, hand halfway to the plate of calamari, and gave her an exasperated look. Her mouth twitched as she clearly worked to repress a laugh.</p><p>“...Been keeping that one in your pocket for a while, I see,” he grumbled.</p><p>Finally, her face split into a wide grin. “I won’t deny it,” she confessed. “I’ve been <em> itching </em>to use it.”</p><p>He grunted. He knew he deserved it, but… ugh.</p><p>“Where are you headed after this?” she asked.</p><p>He shrugged. “I haven’t yet decided.”</p><p>“Well you’ll have to go north to go anywhere. I’m on my way back to Limsa, myself. Would you care to accompany me?”</p><p>He gave her a long, evaluative look. She tilted her head and crossed her arms.</p><p>“Oh, <em> do </em> at least give me the satisfaction of knowing I’d be more welcome company than <em> Gaius Baelsar</em>.”</p><p>At that, he barked a laugh. The way she snarled around the name made it sound like a curse, and in Eorzea—and Garlemald too now, almost certainly—it may as well have been. However, he could not in good consciousness concede so easily.</p><p>“Gaius talked less.”</p><p>“Chocobo shite. I know better than <em> anyone </em> how much he talks.” She made a face and scrunched up her chin, then belted out, “’<em>Tell me, for whom do you fight? </em>’”</p><p>Estinien nearly choked on his drink. The impression was <em> impeccable</em>. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but stopped when he noticed that the scowl remained between her brows, eyes unfocused as she stared off into the middle distance, clearly lost in thought.</p><p>She shook her head. “Never mind.” She stirred her soup. “It’s nice to share lunch with you at least, Estinien.”</p><p>“I would be honored to join you,” he said and, to his surprise, her face lit up. Like Aymeric’s had whenever Estinien had caved to some heartfelt demand—dinner at the Borel Manor, or an evening game of cards. His ribs ached strangely at the sudden reminder.</p><p>“Best news I’ve had all day,” she replied. “We can leave tomorrow morning.”</p><p>He shifted in his seat. “I was not intending to stay here tonight.”</p><p>At that, she half-smiled again. “Coin-starved adventurer, indeed,” she said. “Well, I’d be a right sorry one myself if I objected to camping.”</p><p> </p><p>*    *    *    *    *</p><p> </p><p>When they were done eating, they made their way to the stables to collect her chocobo. He knew how tall she was, hells, he’d seen her not that long ago in Revenant’s Toll, but when they both rose out of their chairs it still seemed as if she somehow <em> kept </em>rising, continuously unfolding like a magician’s trick ribbon. Seven fulms tall if she was an ilm, and likely taller than that. Estinien wasn’t himself particularly tall for an elezen—average height, really—but he was still mostly unused to being, quite literally, looked down upon. He had been used to it, before, during their travels through Coerthas and Dravania, but that had been nearly two years ago, now. Long enough to be surprised again.</p><p>Somehow, though, it simply suited. The Warrior of Light, larger than life, tall as tales. When she entered a room heads turned. Estinien could think of only one other person he knew whose mere presence could command such attention.</p><p>Her chocobo, too, was correspondingly enormous. Bigger even than the Ishgardian war chocobos bred to carry Temple Knight cavaliers, and an obnoxiously bright Ala Mhigan pink, to boot.</p><p>“There’s a good girl, Picpoule,” she said, stroking the big bird’s neck. “Let’s quit this town.”</p><p>One last stop at the armory to pick up the small birch tree that was her lance, to strap it to the saddle like a flagpole, and they were heading out toward the scrublands.</p><p>“Oi, Lieutenant!” the call of a frantic voice caught them before they were beyond the town walls. Another enlistee of the Maelstrom was chasing after them, waving one arm above his head while the other cradled something close to his chest. He trotted to a halt before them.</p><p>“Glad I caught ye before ye went,” he said, grinning. “Can’t break tradition now, can we?” He proffered his holding: a bottle of sparkling wine.</p><p>She threw back her head and laughed. “I’d almost forgotten! Bad form, that.” She took the bottle and looked it over with a grin. “Give the grand storm marshal my thanks.”</p><p>The sergeant saluted with a smile and left.</p><p>“Eynzahr never misses an opportunity to poke fun at my name,” she told Estinien. “He can’t forgive me for being Hellsguard.”</p><p>“’Tis a rather odd name, truly,” Estinien replied.</p><p>“Even for Hellsguard, aye,” agreed Sparkling Wine, the Warrior of Light.</p><p> </p><p>*    *    *    *    *</p><p> </p><p>He’d asked her about it once, one evening during their interminable slog through Dravania toward the Churning Mists, and—though they had yet to understand it then—the utter revolution of Ishgard.</p><p>“My father was a drunkard,” she’d said with a shrug, and Ysayle had nearly aspirated her dinner, coughing, eyes streaming, while Alphinaud pounded her back. “He named me after his favorite vice.” Noticing Ysayle’s ongoing distress, she too had reached over and patted her on the back. “He was a jolly drunkard, if it’s any comfort. Drank himself to an early grave, it’s true, but he went singing into the ground.”</p><p>“’Tis a mercy he preferred liquor to prostitutes,” Estinien had said, earning himself a glare from Ysayle, a scandalized look from Alphinaud, and a snort of laughter from Sparkling.</p><p>“Meaning I should be grateful I’m not ‘Sopping Whore,’ instead?” she’d retorted. “You’re hardly the first to make that point.” She’d tilted her head to the side. “Though I concede, it could be worse. It could be <em> ‘Wyrmblood. </em>’”</p><p>Ysayle had laughed at that, and Alphinaud had pretended not to.</p><p>Estinien hadn’t bothered to correct their assumption. “Wyrmblood” was not a name, merely an epithet, earned for himself because he’d spilled so much of it. In truth, he had no surname. Peasant Coerthan families had never merited the honor. But Ishgardian society didn’t like to dwell on that so in time the nickname had effectively become a name in proper. When he was young, Alberic had pushed him to take his surname—after all, he had been formally adopted. Estinien had resisted, for reasons that he’d been unable to articulate as a child, and was unwilling to as an adult.</p><p>None of it mattered anymore, anyway.</p><p>They walked in companionable silence through the afternoon, Picpoule dutifully ambling along beside them. Limsa Lominsa was barely a half-day’s travel by foot but they’d had a late start and Estinien, in particular, had no reason to rush. It surprised him a bit that Sparkling seemed equally unhurried. He knew the rest of the Scions still remained in their strange, unnatural slumber, and he’d heard rumors that she’d been back to the Ghimlyt Dark. Then there was whatever she’d been called away to do in the world beyond the Rift—gods, that was still bizarre to contemplate. So it struck him as noticeably odd that she’d be all the way out here, running training exercises for green Maelstrom recruits of all things, and taking far more time than she needed to return to the city.</p><p>In any case, she was proving him wrong. She did talk less than Gaius.</p><p>Insects buzzed a steady drone amidst the flowering saltbush as shadows lengthened in the afternoon sun. The golden hour approached, gilding everything in honeyed light and turning even the ruddy La Noscean scrubland into a dazzling painted backdrop. Atop the headlands of the God’s Grip they could see far in every direction. To the west the enormous corrupted crystal spikes of the Salt Strand glittered in sunlit, kaleidoscopic shards. To the east, the Strait of Merlthor darkened like a bruise as both it and the sky began to fade into night. To the northwest, the whitewashed walls of Limsa Lominsa shone pearlescent, reflecting orange and gold. It was arguably the best time of day to be crossing the great bridge of Oschon’s Embrace, its height providing a glorious view of the impending sunset behind the city. Even Estinien found himself drawn, gazing out across the water as aggressive gusts of wind blew his hair about his face. He didn’t notice that the Warrior of Light had not also stopped until a soft scrabble on the paving stones followed by a gentle <em> kweh </em> compelled him to look over. Her chocobo was watching him, head tilted, half turned his way, almost as if to say, <em> Well? </em>Estinien had to trot along to catch up, that much shorter was his stride.</p><p>He remembered it being unlike her to ignore such a view. In Dravania, and even snowy Coerthas, she’d often paused at the apex of some trail or another, head swiveling slowly from side-to-side to absorb the grand vista. Now she simply pressed on, measured as nightfall.</p><p>They pitched camp in the lee of a rock face above Moraby Bay, just off the road. Estinien piled sticks for kindling from the coastal scrub, then reached for his flint.</p><p>“No need for that,” Sparkling said, thumbing through the pages of her great arcane book.</p><p>Ah, yes. He’d forgotten this, too.</p><p>She waved her hand and with a strange, chime-like sound, a little red creature somewhat like a cross between a domestic cat and a rabbit took shape from the aether. She gestured again and a tiny jet of flame shot from it to ignite the dry wood. In moments, their campfire was crackling merrily. A self-satisfied smirk turned up one corner of her mouth.</p><p>Estinien crossed his arms. “Hmph.”</p><p>She laughed and replaced the book to where it hung from her side, dismissing the ruby carbuncle with another lazy wave of her hand.</p><p>“Give me a minute, and I’ll conjure something else,” she said, stalking off along the cliffs. She returned with handkerchiefs full of the grapes and olives that grew wild on the headlands, then produced the bottle she’d been given at the Drydocks and sat beside him.</p><p>Estinien tilted his head.</p><p>“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked.</p><p>“To Nymeia’s favor,” she replied, “unless that would make you a heretic.”</p><p>He snorted. “I am a heretic at least thrice over.”</p><p>“Then thank the Spinner for her generosity,” she said, “though She did not see fit to gift us with glasses. I’m sure Gaius would say it no more than expected for a pair of Eorzean savages.”</p><p>He raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s twice you’ve mentioned Baelsar this afternoon.”</p><p>She was unwinding the muselet off the cork. “Aye, well, I was but recently at the Ghimlyt Dark, cleaning up another of his messes.” So the rumors were true.</p><p>Her hands were big enough to nearly obscure the neck of the bottle, and the cork came free with a soft <em> pop</em>. She regarded him and offered a toast. “To welcome company for a change,” she said, taking a swig. He was strangely touched.</p><p>She offered him the bottle and he took it, tossing back his head. ‘Twas a fine wine indeed, effervescent and dry with a hint of sweetness that lingered pleasantly on the palate.</p><p>“Surprisingly good,” he said, handing it back. She smiled.</p><p>“Eynzahr never disappoints.”</p><p>They traded the wine back and forth until it was gone, snacking on the grapes and olives as day slid into night. A familiar yet distant ritual as he recalled many evenings spent similarly side-by-side with Aymeric on some Fury-forsaken hillside in the wilds of pre-Calamity Coerthas. If he focused on the campfire he could even almost pretend that out of the corner of his eye instead of the shock of wiry black hair on the woman next to him he saw a mop of soft, loose curls. Instead of an arcanist’s tunic the hauberk of a Temple knight. Nostalgia was a foolishness to disdain but sometimes even he could not resist its draw.</p><p>The moon was barely a sliver and all the stars winked into visibility one by one, brilliant in the darkening sky. Estinien’s eyes drifted, as ever, to the Spear and the five azure-tinged stars that gave it form. Halone’s Halls, high in the heavens. Forever beyond his reach in this life, and likely the next as well.</p><p>“I’ll take first watch,” Sparkling said, standing and stretching. She whistled Picpoule to her side and the chocobo came dutifully, so she could untie the lance and the bedroll and the saddlebags, finally loosing the girth and pulling the saddle off entirely. She smoothed her hand over the bird’s feathers and it swiveled its head around to nudge affectionately at her arm.</p><p>Estinien didn’t have much to set up. He carried as little as possible on his travels and avoided the acquisition of anything that might serve to weigh him down. In a few minutes his bedroll was unfurled and his armor shed, so he could relax in his lighter clothing. When he was done, he realized that the Warrior of Light hadn’t moved an ilm. She yet stood, hand on her chocobo’s back, staring blankly into the distance, her mind clearly far away. That in itself was surprising, he remembered her as being alert and attuned to her surroundings. Then, as he watched, she turned and pressed her face into her chocobo’s neck and he heard the sharp, hard inhale that rasped in her throat.</p><p>He narrowed his eyes.</p><p>“Another vision, is it?” he asked, and he couldn’t keep the accusatory tone out of his voice. He <em> hated </em>that her blessing gave her the power to see any piece of his past laid bare, if only Hydaelyn should wish it. He knew she couldn’t control it, but it didn’t stop the feeling of violation that it invoked, to know his privacy for so tenuous a thing.</p><p>She made some small noise that sounded like a failed attempt at a laugh.</p><p>“My own memories, this time. Equally unwelcome.” She lifted her face from Picpoule’s neck and stroked the soft feathers once more, then sat cross-legged on her bedroll before the fire. She gave him a sidelong look. “You know, of all the visions the Echo has granted me, the one I saw of you was one of the <em> most </em>flattering. Storming the Imperial palace? Taking on an Ultima Weapon by yourself? Strange how it bothers you so. You didn’t seem to mind when I was shown Aymeric’s humiliation before the Archbishop.”</p><p>Estinien felt his cheeks flush and was glad it wouldn’t be visible in the firelight. She was right, her vision of Aymeric hadn’t much bothered him, at least partially because at the time he’d been too angry at Thordan and the Heavens’ Ward to be bothered by much else. Nevertheless, he well remembered the tremor in his friend’s rich voice as he’d said, <em> Would that it had shown you a finer moment from my past</em>. But Aymeric somehow never faltered before his own vulnerability. He’d simply taken a deep breath and owned his weakness.</p><p>
  <em> To be frank, I am embarrassed to recall it. </em>
</p><p>Long had Estinien marveled at that strength, at all of Aymeric’s strength, truth be told. Would that he too could somehow find the courage not to shrink before his own failings. Instead, they haunted him endlessly, their weight one he could neither drop nor outrun, no matter how long or light he traveled. Sometimes he wished he’d been able to bring himself to ask, to look his closest friend in the eye and say, <em> How has this city not yet brought you to your knees. How do you get up each and every day and face insults and infighting and zealotry and war and still emerge unbent, unbroken, undaunted. How do you still hope and dream. </em></p><p>
  <em> Teach me. </em>
</p><p>“…Aye,” he said at last. “I suppose <em> your </em>vision was not so bad.”</p><p>“Who else…?” she began, then paused. “Ah. Krile.”</p><p>Krile. The Baldesion. <em> Gods</em>. She hadn’t even been willing to share what she’d seen in Kugane, so he assumed it was something of singular ignominy. To think of it made him vaguely ill. Or maybe that was the booze.</p><p>The Warrior of Light cleared her throat. “I have something to tell you about that, in fact, but you won’t like it.”</p><p>He frowned. “Is that so.”</p><p>“Aye.” She took a deep breath. “Krile lied. There was no vision from the Echo. She merely acted as if she’d seen one.”</p><p>“<em>What? </em>”</p><p>Before he knew it, Estinien was on his feet, heart hammering in his chest. He stared at Sparkling, who looked up at him from where she sat looking uncharacteristically rueful. He crossed his arms and looked away, face burning with anger and embarrassment both. It had been a while since he’d felt such a fool. It wasn’t an experience he enjoyed, and he bit back a nasty comment.</p><p>“‘Twas a dirty trick,” he said at length, through clenched teeth.</p><p>She heaved a sigh, and in it he heard her own displeasure, less acute than his but there nonetheless. “I agree. I do not find it an admirable manner of leveraging our…” She paused. “...Invoking the Blessing of Light. I’ve had words with her and she was contrite. I will venture that I don’t believe Krile truly understood how unkind using such deceit would be on you, of all people.”</p><p><em> On me. Of all people. </em> The words pricked like a needle, as if she were singling him out for a unique and shameful fragility. <em> Tread lightly around Ser Estinien, he’s like to bite as a cornered dog… </em></p><p>“If it makes it easier,” she said, after a moment, “know that by doing what you did in Garlemald you helped spare countless lives, and I do not exaggerate. Generations’ worth.”</p><p>He frowned at the tone of her voice.</p><p>“You make it sound like we prevented another Dragonsong War,” he said.</p><p>The Warrior of Light looked straight at him, firelight glittering hard in her eyes, and the next words she spoke made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.</p><p>“You will never know how close it was.”</p><p>Eventually, Estinien sat back down.</p><p>For a long time the only sound was the crack of flames against fresh wood as he slowly fed more sticks into the campfire. When he at last glanced over he saw her chocobo had folded its legs and curled up next to her like a giant house cat. She was stroking its feathers again. He could see a heaviness etched into her posture, in the slight sag of her shoulders and the glassy, dead-eyed way she stared into the flames. This marrow-deep weariness in her he did not recognize and could not recall having seen before, not even after they had stormed the Vault in Ishgard, when they’d found Aymeric tortured by the Heavens’ Ward and Lord Haurchefant had died in their arms. Then she’d been full of righteous fury, baying down the moon for the blood of Thordan and his vicious knights. He’d understood that fervor, understood it with a profundity that sobered him in retrospect. And… he understood the weariness too, he realized. Understood that at the end of the trail of fire and blood there was naught but smoke and ash.</p><p>They were friends, weren’t they? ‘Twas an odd thought. He wasn’t used to having true friends, not other than Aymeric, and Aymeric… well. Estinien’s jaw tightened. In his mind’s eye, he saw those shining eyes, pale as the winter sky. Those glossy black locks of gentle curls. That perfect mouth which curved so beautifully into a smile.</p><p>Aymeric was special.</p><p>But…</p><p>“I can see you are troubled,” he said slowly. “Should you wish to speak of it, I will listen.”</p><p>She eyed him, and even in the patchy firelight, he could see the long, appraising look she was giving him. Considering. Weighing whether he was worth her confidence. That stung more than he wanted to admit.</p><p>At last she sighed again and looked into the campfire. “I could talk ‘til dawn and not be done. But there is something I would share, for you.” She tilted her head back, searching the stars, and he wondered if she sought a particular formation as he always did the Spear, or if she merely gazed into the vastness of the dark.</p><p>“I would tell you of the kingdom of Voeburt.”</p><p> </p><p>*    *    *    *    *</p><p> </p><p>She told him about the First. About how it mirrored the Source—their own star—in ways both familiar and distorted. About how, though all the peoples were the same, their names differed. There she was not a roegadyn, but a galdjent. He would not be an elezen, but an elf. Just enough divergence to unsettle, like catching your own reflection in a rippled pool of water.</p><p>She told him about the Flood of Light. About how it had consumed nearly the entire world, leaving absolutely nothing in its wake, simply blank, white-stained rock and empty yellow skies. Black Rose, on a planetary scale. The stillness of all aether. The end of all life. Only a handful of lands had been spared, a region perhaps the size of Gyr Abania, encircled within a shining wall of death. Norvrandt, this place was called.</p><p>“Voeburt was a kingdom in Norvrandt,” she said, “in the northern mountains. It was known for many things. For bitter winters that froze the blood. For breeding magnificent winged creatures called amaro to carry their famed knights into battle. For calcified social institutions that carved society into the high- and lowborn, and made it nigh impossible for one to escape the fate of one’s birth. For being a land of the proud and the stubborn, people who adhered to tradition with religious fervor and fought change even when it would have brought only good. For nonetheless being full of kind and noble hearts, strong and loyal friends, to those who would persist in their companionship.”</p><p>She ran her hand through Picpoule’s bright crest of feathers.</p><p>“They still use amaro as mounts in Norvrandt,” she continued. “I rode several while I was there. I couldn’t help but notice—if you somehow managed to cross a chocobo with a dragon, something like what an amaro resembles would likely be the result.”</p><p>Estinien’s throat was tight.</p><p>“What of the kingdom now?”</p><p>“Gone. It survived the initial Flood of Light, but was too close to the edge of where it was halted and was overrun with Sin Eaters barely a decade later.” She paused. “There are some ruins at the bottom of a lake. What descendants of the Voeburtites remain have assimilated into the other cultures of Norvrandt.”</p><p>Estinien’s chest was burning and it had nothing to do with smoke from the campfire. Because if the First was a mirror of their very own star then this Voeburt was clearly <em> Ishgard</em>.</p><p>Had been.</p><p>“Why are you telling me this?” he demanded.</p><p>“So that maybe you’ll finally pull your head out of your arse,” she replied.</p><p>Estinien blinked. That was not what he’d expected to hear.</p><p>“...What?”</p><p>“<em>Gods</em>, Estinien.” She pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead. “What in the seven hells are you doing all the way out here pissing your life away?”</p><p>He felt his cheeks begin to redden again.</p><p>“I thought you just said I’d helped spare countless lives.”</p><p>“Aye, and how your arm had to be twisted!”</p><p>Estinien set his teeth and stared off into the darkness beyond the campfire, where he knew the worn dirt path wound through grass and brush to the upper decks of Limsa Lominsa.</p><p>“I have had enough of heroics,” he said.</p><p>Too late, he realized what a bloody stupid thing that was to say to the <em> Warrior of Light</em>.</p><p>She laughed, oh, how she <em> laughed</em>. She threw back her head and fair well howled, bitter as a Coerthan wind. The light of the fire reflected off the brown skin of her throat and made her look as if she could spit it, like one of Nidhogg’s brood.</p><p>He supposed, in a sense, that she could.</p><p>“You <em> coward</em>,” she said. It hit like a fist to his jaw. “My friends were summoned to a world not their own, against their wills, to save it from the brink of apocalypse, and they did it. <em> We </em> did it. But now they are dying, souls torn from their bodies, and unless I can figure out a way to carry them back through the Rift they will never see their home again. And <em> you</em>, you have a home that would welcome you, people there who miss you, and the best you can manage is to vagabond your way across the world without a care.”</p><p>Gods, he should have known. He should have known that the Warrior of Light, who could land her every strike with a precision of unparalleled brutality, could land words like that, as well. He knew he couldn’t best her. He’d learned that the hard way. But pride was pride, and his wasn’t gone yet.</p><p>“I fought in Ala Mhigo,” he snarled. “I fought in the Ghimlyt Dark. I saved <em> your </em>life.”</p><p>“As I saved yours,” she retorted, coolly. “Aye, you fought. Skulking from the shadows. What were you even there for?” She snorted. “I should ask you what Baelsar asked me all those years ago. Since you <em> were </em>there, go on and tell me, Estinien: for whom do you fight?”</p><p>‘Twas his turn to laugh. He remembered standing before Hraesvelgr, determined to give up his life of violence, only to have the great wyrm himself scoff at such a notion. He remembered that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he realized that the thrice-damned dragon was right, that as much as he might have wanted it to be otherwise… this was who he was. What he was. What he had chosen to be each and every day since Alberic had first put a lance in his hands. The road of twenty years was not so easily abandoned, as it turned out.</p><p>“You want to know, do you? I fight because such is all I’ve ever known.” He dug his fingers into the dirt beside the campfire, closing his fist around a mass of papery tufts of grass and dry soil. It slid from his palm in a sandy cloud, motes drifting on the breeze. “Fighting is what I do.”</p><p>“I didn’t ask you <em> why </em> you fought. I asked <em> for whom</em>.”</p><p>Estinien clenched his teeth. “What was <em> your </em>answer?” he demanded.</p><p>He didn’t really expect her to tell him. But she did.</p><p>“I told him I fought for Eorzea,” she said. She half-laughed. “He had a good angry rant about that.”</p><p>Despite himself, Estinien felt the tug at one corner of his mouth as he imagined Gaius <em> ranting </em>at the Warrior of Light. As if she could tell, she tilted her head at him, her own smirk pulling at her lips. “And then I defeated him and his Ultima Weapon, and left him for dead in the Praetorium.” She quirked one eyebrow. “Should have checked for a pulse.”</p><p>He snorted.</p><p>“Forgive me, Estinien,” she said, and his head snapped up. She was pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “I apologize for yelling at you. As is the case with most emotional outbursts, it was more about myself than you.”</p><p>She looked up again toward the brilliant night sky and smiled, small and wan. “Truth be told, I <em> envy </em>you.”</p><p>His mouth fell open, and a moment later he felt the scrape of the laugh that tore from his own throat.</p><p>“I assure you, the sentiment is wasted. I am no one to envy.”</p><p>Her own laugh came in rejoinder, soft and laced with distant sorrow.</p><p>“You got to stop.”</p><p>He froze.</p><p>She sighed deeply, longing threaded so obviously through it that he found himself almost embarrassed by it, to have borne witness to an emotion so vulnerable from the Warrior of Light.</p><p>“I can never stop. Hydaelyn has told me so Herself. '<em>Go forth my child and be a beacon of hope for Eorzea and the lands beyond for all the days of thy life.' </em>” She huffed softly. “When I first heard those words, they filled me with pride. Now they do not.”</p><p>Something in Estinien ached with recognition. Empathy had not always easily come to him but this, this was too familiar.</p><p>“To be chosen,” he said slowly. “You think it a blessing, at first. You learn it for a curse.” He swallowed. “Even if it takes years.”</p><p>She nodded, a wry smile on her mouth. “Aye. A blessing. That is what we have always called it.”</p><p>The Blessing of Light.</p><p>Estinien looked at the ground, at the weave of shadows cast by the fire. Blessing turned to curse. Boon to bane, power to prison. Aye, that was how it went. He felt a twinge of guilt for harping her about the visions.</p><p>“Well, now that I’ve had a good whinge I suppose I should let you sleep,” Sparkling said, her voice returned to its usual casual confidence. A bit too quickly returned, he thought, but he wasn’t about to push it with the Warrior of Light.</p><p>“Go on then,” she continued. She pulled a quill and bottle of deep blue ink from her travel pack, resting her caller’s tome open in her lap, and set to her annotations. “Get some rest, Estinien. I’ll wake you later for your watch.”</p><p>He grunted his assent and settled into his bedroll, facing away and frowning. A cascade of thoughts and memories swirled in his mind, racing out in all directions. Something about her stated answer to Gaius’s ludicrous question in particular struck him as off, but he couldn’t articulate what or why. He was tired, after all, and he’d had more to drink today than usual. Eyes falling shut, he resolved that he would ask about it if it still bothered him enough to be remembered when he awoke.</p><p>Which seemed unlikely, when he did so screaming.</p><p> </p><p>*    *    *    *    *</p><p> </p><p>He was himself. Then he was not.</p><p>Nidhogg’s eyes <em> consumed </em> him, utterly, inevitably, as the sea consumed a sinking ship. As Ratatoskr had been consumed by his ancestors. <em> Fair is fair</em>, a wickedly self-satisfied voice told him, even as panic gripped his heart and he fought, uselessly, against the crush of a will much greater than his own. Then there was Ferndale, ablaze, and there was Ishgard, ablaze, ringed in a sick flood of yellow that bore down from all directions, and he struggled against the aetheric crush that bound him, but it was, as ever, futile. Then there were <em> corpses</em>, rigid and glassy-eyed, carpeting the grass and stones, children and women and men, his mother, his father, his brother… the Warrior of Light and Alberic and Alphinaud.</p><p>And then there was Aymeric.</p><p>Aymeric stood before him, sword in hand, those blue eyes staring him down, that black hair tossed by the hot wind of dragon fire, that mouth set in a grim line and writ all over that beautiful face was the knowledge that he was to die and the determination to nonetheless fight until the very bitter end.</p><p>Aymeric never ran.</p><p>And Estinien was screaming, choking with it, desperate to stop what he knew was coming next, but his body was not his own and all he could do was cry <em> Aymeric Aymeric Aymeric </em>as everything dissolved into blood and fire and Nidhogg’s laughter above his own wild howl. </p><p>Claws dug into his shoulder and he thrashed against their grip, he was <em> not </em> going back, never, he’d die before he again surrendered his body and his thoughts and his aether and his <em> very soul</em>—</p><p>“Seven hells, Estinien—!”</p><p>Sparkling’s voice finally pierced the last remnants of the dream and he sat straight up, panting, heart pounding a tattoo in his ears.</p><p>The first thing he saw was the Warrior of Light crouched before him, her hand on his shoulder, brows knitted together in concern. Behind her, the chocobo watched him intently, like a curious cat. He could feel the flush in his face, knew his eyes were wide with the remnant fear.</p><p>She frowned.</p><p>“Is that normal?”</p><p>Estinien swallowed, and the soreness in his throat made him wonder just how much he’d yelled before he woke up. “...That’s the worst it’s been in a while,” he said, and oh yes, that hoarse edge to his voice was unmistakable.</p><p>Her frown deepened but she didn’t comment, for which he was grateful. With a sigh, she handed him a canteen.</p><p>“Drink up,” she said. “I’ll make us something to eat.”</p><p>At that point he finally noticed the thin, white fog that swirled around them on the headland, shining dully in the wan light of early morning.</p><p>“You didn’t wake me for my watch.”</p><p>Sparkling shrugged. “I wasn’t tired.”</p><p>He didn’t like that answer, and moreover he didn’t think it to be true.</p><p>"Hmph," he said, crossing his arms. She looked at him sidelong as she began to build up the fire.</p><p>"...And it's possible I felt guilty for losing my temper at you last night."</p><p>Estinien shook his head. He was thoroughly accustomed to people losing their tempers with him. He would admit that he was less uncaring about it now than he had been in the past. It made him wince to remember the one time he’d even managed to drive Aymeric to that edge, when he’d taken the Eye of Nidhogg from the Holy Vault and run off into Coerthas without explanation. The lord commander had had to spend <em> quite </em> a lot of his political capital to keep him out of the Tribunal for that one, especially because Estinien had never bothered to put in the effort to acquire much of his own. At this point, it wasn’t merely difficult, but nigh impossible to put himself back in his own head from that time, nigh impossible to remember exactly <em> why </em> he’d thought stealing the Eye and absconding to the Highlands such a grand idea rather than simply <em> telling </em>Aymeric that he could feel Nidhogg stirring to wakefulness and trusting to their combined ability to devise a plan of recourse. The influence of Nidhogg himself through the Eye, perhaps, though his own arrogance had certainly played no small role.</p><p>...Sparkling, of course, knew that tale all too well.</p><p>He cleared his throat. “‘Tis no reason to exhaust yourself staying up all night.”</p><p>She smiled a little, arranging her cookware. “I suppose you are right, Estinien,” she replied, an unusual concession.</p><p>She had cornmeal and walnuts and salt cod, and a handful of foraged olives left over from the previous night. All of this somehow became a bready corn cake topped with the fish, rich and savory and far superior to the usual fare Estinien ate on the road. Hunger sated, they sipped their tea, watching the mist gradually burn off in the growing morning light, a rosy dawn rising above the sea. Estinien again marveled at this unhurriedness, so uncharacteristic of the Warrior of Light.</p><p>“I never did thank you,” she said.</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>“For saving my life.”</p><p>He looked away.</p><p>“No need,” he replied, gruffly. “As you said, you saved mine.”</p><p>“And I seem to recall a surprisingly heartfelt profession of gratitude afterward,” she said. “Though I also recall Aymeric gently bullying you into it. Indulge me at least enough that I might do the same.” She paused. “Without the bullying.”</p><p>Her mention of Aymeric made his throat ache again.</p><p>“Well, consider it done then.”</p><p>She snorted a laugh and shook her head, pushing herself to her feet and stretching.</p><p>“And so, by the grace of Hydaelyn and a well-timed dragoon’s jump, the Warrior of Light did live to fight for Eorzea another day,” she proclaimed. It only sounded a little bit sarcastic.</p><p>Estinien frowned as he too got to his feet and began to collect his things. Something rankled in the back of his mind, some memory prompted by what she’d just said, but it circled just beyond his reach. Something about—ah. Yes, that was it.</p><p>He put his hands on his hips, shifting his weight and tilting his head at her in contemplation.</p><p>“You know,” he said, and she looked up from where she was retying her bedroll, regarding him with interest. “You didn’t answer the question, either.”</p><p>She blinked at him. “You’ll have to elaborate.”</p><p>“You were on my case for saying <em> why </em> I fought but not <em> for whom</em>. Yet you said you fought for Eorzea. That’s <em> what </em> you fight for, which is also not <em> for whom</em>.”</p><p>He expected her to retort, or to be surprised, or to banter back at him, but instead, she merely smiled and stood, her face softening with surprising warmth.</p><p>“I was wondering if you’d notice that,” she said. Then she sobered. “But have you also discerned the obvious answer?”</p><p>He thought back to their conversation the previous night, brows furrowing.</p><p>“...Hydaelyn,” he replied. He looked up to meet her eyes. “Because She demands it.”</p><p>Her faint smile returned, tempered with a distant grief.</p><p>She turned to finish tightening the girth on Picpoule’s saddle. He strapped his armor into place and fixed his lance across his back. In silence, they doused the fire and cleaned the campsite, setting out once more northwest for Limsa Lominsa. The steadily rising sun warmed them as they walked, carrying with it the promise of another bright spring day.</p><p>Sparkling didn’t seem inclined to speak and Estinien rarely felt the need to fill a void with idle chatter. He did wonder if he was the cause of her withdrawal, too reminded, perhaps, of what she’d confessed the previous night, of her envy at his release from his duty. Guilt curled in his chest at the thought—irrationally, he reasoned. After all, her “Blessing” was not his doing. Nonetheless, he considered how she’d found him the previous day, lounging by the pier in the sun, and wondered if she’d also felt the stab of envy then, at his nonchalance. At his careless disregard for where he would go or what he would do when she herself carried so much. So many demands. So many hopes.</p><p>He wondered if Aymeric would envy him, too, now, and if he did, if ever he would admit to it.</p><p>After an hour or so they reached the Tempest Gate, its black steel spires and pale granite paving stones marking the city’s southern entrance. The waters churned around the pile caps of the great bridge, waves whipped into white foam by the wind.</p><p>“It was nice to have your company again, Estinien,” Sparkling said. “I am not too proud to confess that I think often of my time with you and Alphinaud and Ysayle. Those weeks in Dravania remain some of my fondest memories.”</p><p>He found himself nearly scoffing, incredulous yet again, and it occurred to him that for all he had told himself that they were old comrades, he clearly barely knew her.</p><p>“Truly?” he asked. “Despite…”</p><p>
  <em> Despite my arrogance, despite my stubbornness, my dismissiveness, my ignorance… </em>
</p><p>“...Despite your being an insufferable arse?” she finished. He grimaced, and she chuckled. “Aye. And despite that… you were still the first person who ever hesitated to send me into a primal’s den. I’ve never forgotten that.”</p><p>Estinien stopped abruptly and stared after her. This time, it wasn’t just her chocobo that noticed and she turned to face him, black hair ruffling in the ocean breeze.</p><p>“That… that cannot be,” he managed to say. Stupidly, even to his own ears. “The Scions…?”</p><p>“Never once balked.” Her voice was steady, but quiet, and it stabbed at an old ache, nearly the same place that had stung with distaste and reflexive defensiveness each time he’d heard someone call Aymeric a bastard. He shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to say in response, if anything was even appropriate. She gave him a knowing smile.</p><p>“Did the Holy See ever balk to send the Azure Dragoon to face a dragon, no matter the danger?”</p><p>He frowned. “No. But nor did I ever hesitate to go.”</p><p>“Nor do I.” That smile again. “A weapon is meant to be wielded.”</p><p>He didn’t like that response, he didn’t like it <em> at all</em>. He had <em> sought </em> the position of Azure Dragoon, had pursued it with a reckless ambition that bordered sheer lunacy. The same could not be said of her. Furthermore, there was a concession in it, one he would have made himself a scant year ago but which now held neither pride nor allure. A <em> weapon</em>, she had said, and he knew she was treated as such. He had been treated as such, by nearly everyone he knew save Aymeric, and at the time that care had baffled him. Now he cursed himself for having wasted such a gift, for it grated, in retrospect, to have been otherwise so broadly <em> debased. </em> To have been reduced to his sharpest, most jagged, most dangerous edges. It grated especially because <em> he had believed it himself</em>. Believed it was his purpose. Believed it was his duty. Believed it was the best he could hope to be. A man ignorant of all things, save how to wield a lance in anger.</p><p>They were neither of them weapons. They were <em> people</em>.</p><p>They were friends.</p><p>She must have been able to read at least some of this on his face because she cocked her head at him, a thoughtful line to her mouth.</p><p>“Come with me,” she said. “There’s something I wish to show you.”</p><p>She led him to Maelstrom Command, where she handed off Picpoule to an eager recruit and sought an officer near the front door. Their low conversation didn’t carry, but he caught the margins of it, a nod and a salute and an <em> Of course, Lieutenant, I’ll bring him right out. </em></p><p>A few minutes later, the officer returned with the strangest thing imaginable in tow: a tiny kobold child. Sparkling thanked her, then gently herded the little creature toward a stretch of grass beneath a tree and sat beside him in the shade. After a moment, Estinien joined her.</p><p>“This is Ga Bu,” she said. “Shortly after you left Ishgard, he tried to enlist the aid of the Limsan soldiers in Camp Overlook to prevent the summoning of Titan.”</p><p>Estinien blinked. “A kobold came to the <em> Maelstrom </em>for help?”</p><p>“He was desperate,” she replied softly. “His parents had spoken out in opposition to their kin’s plans, and were imprisoned as a result. Alphinaud, Alisaie, and I did our best. We took the crystals the kobolds had amassed in an attempt to remove their source of aether. But for the ruthless and determined, there are other options. Living things are, after all, full of aether. To tap it you need only be willing to kill.</p><p>“We were too late. Ga Bu’s parents, along with the other dissenters, were dead when we got there. Sacrifices to feed the primal. Unfortunately, Ga Bu was with us, and when he saw their bodies…”</p><p>She trailed off and reached to take the little kobold’s paw, her own enormous palm dwarfing the tiny beast’s, his black claws stark against her bronzy brown skin.</p><p>“He summoned Titan himself. I am certain it was an accident. The ritual had been prepared, aether thick in the air, and the last component is prayer, the more heartfelt and desperate the better. And what more heartfelt, desperate plea than that of a child who has seen his whole world stolen from him?”</p><p>She granted him the small mercy of keeping her gaze on Ga Bu so that Estinien could pretend she didn’t see the way he swallowed hard and turned his head abruptly to one side. So he could pretend it was merely the salt air that stung the corners of his eyes, simply the sudden gust of wind that made his breath run ragged in his throat. So he could pretend he didn’t see, through the ruthless lens of memory, the blistered bodies of his parents entwined, his father’s arm across his mother, as if he could have shielded her from the dragon fire that had burned them both half to ash on the front step of their own home.</p><p>When he had control once more, he looked back to her.</p><p>“He’s been like this ever since,” she said. “Listless, unresponsive. He eats and he sleeps but his demeanor never changes. To my knowledge, he has spoken only once since that terrible day—to thank Alisaie for her aid. That’s enough to hope, at least. The Maelstrom watches over him at my request. He risked much to warn us of Titan’s impending return, after all, and lost everything for it.”</p><p>She sighed, and gently released Ga Bu’s paw from her palm. It fell limply to his side.</p><p>“I visit him when I can,” she finished.</p><p>“‘Tis kind of you,” Estinien said. He was relieved his voice held steady.</p><p>“If only I were that unselfish,” she replied. “It’s also a reminder. When everything… when it all gets a bit much.”</p><p>She closed her eyes.</p><p>“You weren’t wrong, when you said I fight for Hydaelyn because I must. I am Her blade, forged and tempered in Her Light. I know it. Sometimes I even enjoy it. When the power sings in your veins and you know, you simply <em> know</em>, that you cannot be stopped… well.” Her gaze flickered to Estinien’s. “You can relate to that.”</p><p>Halone, how he could, to an embarrassing degree. Tightly, he inclined his head, and she nodded once before returning her attention to the little kobold. </p><p>“But it is no motivation.” She shook her head. “I fight for him.”</p><p>“For the kobold?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.</p><p>“For him,” she repeated. Carefully, she stood, watching Ga Bu, so far beneath her, not even reaching her knees. “For Alphinaud. For Alisaie. For Y’shtola and Urianger and Thancred and Ryne and G’raha. For Tataru and Krile and Lyse. For Hien and Yugiri and Gosetsu. For Cid. For Raubahn. For Nanamo and Pipin and Kan-E-Senna and Eynzahr and Merlwyb. For Artoirel and Edmont. For Lucia. For Aymeric.”</p><p>Estinien’s heart skipped a beat and she turned to him, eyes glittering in the morning sun, green as envy.</p><p>“For you.”</p><p>She didn’t wait for his reply, but led Ga Bu back to Maelstrom Command, where the same officer as before received them. He watched as she crouched down to say her goodbyes, then the little kobold was gone, disappeared to wherever he was being kept. Selfishly, Estinien was glad of the reprieve. To have the force of the conviction of the Warrior of Light turned upon you… ‘twas no small thing to withstand.</p><p>She did not return to sit with him, but stood at the low stone wall along the walkway that overlooked the lower part of the city, back turned. Briefly, he wondered if he had been dismissed but that seemed unlikely. So he got to his feet and made his way to join her, watching the people milling about the decks and walkways below them along the waterway, heading to the hawkers’ stalls to shop and haggle.</p><p>“You see, Estinien,” she said softly, “if I must fight, if I can never stop… I at least can choose how I frame it. I fight not for gods or nations. I fight for <em> people</em>.” Her voice thickened, wavered, then held firm. “For those I have lost. For those I can yet save.”</p><p>Her strength, like Aymeric’s, left him awestruck and ashamed, threw into such stark relief the fact that he possessed none of it. Whatever he had achieved as Azure Dragoon the motivation had always been vengeance, always rage, always the desperate desire to fill the hole in his heart with blood and bury the grief with fury. Always in vain, because the thing he had wanted most was the thing he could never, ever have, and he had never learned to reconcile that. He had only exhausted himself, resolve dashed to pieces against the unbreachable cliffs of his own failure. Acceptance came only when no other path remained.</p><p>He let out a long sigh.</p><p>“Obligated though you may be to fight, Eorzea is lucky to have you as its champion,” he said.</p><p>She glanced at him briefly, then sat on the low stone wall, folding one of her long legs under her in a disarmingly girlish posture.</p><p>“Ishgard was lucky to have you,” she replied.</p><p>Estinien snorted and shook his head.</p><p>“I doubt her citizens would agree.”</p><p>“So is <em> that </em>why you’ve been avoiding the city, then?” she asked. “Fear of the citizenry?”</p><p>Her words caught him off-guard and he frowned, looking away. Trust to the Warrior of Light not to forget a dodged question, even a day-old one.</p><p>“Who says I’ve been avoiding the city.”</p><p>Sparkling huffed a laugh. “You are <em> such </em> a poor liar, Estinien Wyrmblood. Of course you’re avoiding Ishgard. Orn Khai told me he tracked you down in Coerthas but I know for a fact that Alberic hasn’t laid eyes on you since I prevented you from skewering him like a miq’abob nor has Aymeric since you dumped me with him in the Ghimlyt Dark and disappeared. Now do tell me, who in the world would <em> choose </em>to wander alone in that frozen hell when they could instead be warm and indoors, but someone avoiding the city and all its outposts.”</p><p>“Hmph.” His belly twisted at the mention of Alberic and Aymeric. He was beginning to suspect that he wasn’t going to get out of this without revealing a few things he’d really rather not, so he set his eyes back on the docks below them, which were steadily growing more crowded by the minute, and said nothing.</p><p>“I thought I might catch more flies with honey than vinegar this time, but you are one stubborn man,” she said, though there was obvious warmth in her voice. He scowled a little, but he wasn’t so churlish as to contest the observation.</p><p>After a long moment, she spoke again. “When we battled Faunehm on the Azim Steppe you told me you hoped your travels would help you rediscover your purpose. Have they?”</p><p>Before he could prevent it, shame colored his cheeks. The answer was no, and he’d known it for a while. He’d initially left Ishgard with the goal of paying respects to those who had suffered in the Dragonsong War and those who had fought to end it. To the memories of his family and hometown, Haurchefant, Ysayle, and even Ratatoskr, whose murder had been the spark that set all of Coerthas and Dravania ablaze with war for ten relentless centuries. After that, as Hraesvelgr had so curtly reminded him, he’d yet had one last duty to discharge: the final destruction of Nidhogg’s eyes, which he had achieved in Ala Mhigo.</p><p>Since then, however… nothing. The adventure Orn Khai had bullied him into had proven to be an utter dead end and his work in Garlemald for the Scions had been just that: work, not true purpose. He remained as lost as ever, adrift in this new world that had no need of an Azure Dragoon. But it went beyond that, and truth be told, he knew it. He was desperate for something that would give him focus and, more importantly, distraction. </p><p>As his silence grew, he knew too that it betrayed his answer.</p><p>“No,” he said at last. “They haven’t.” He laughed, roughly. “I suppose you were right. I am but a vagabond without a care.”</p><p>She turned her gaze upward, toward the infinite blue of the morning sky.</p><p>“I don’t think that’s actually true,” she said. “But what is true is this: at journey’s end there remains but one destination, and it is the one place you will not go. So I have been wondering, what is it that keeps you running from your home, Estinien?” She paused. “Or perhaps, the more accurate question is <em> who </em>is it that keeps you running from your home.”</p><p>He very nearly flinched. There it was again, the terrifying precision of the Warrior of Light. Fury’s spear and shield, she could not be escaped. He wondered, for a moment, if her enemies felt even a fraction of this inevitability, this impending sense of defeat and if so, well, he perhaps pitied them a little. Because he knew. He knew why he had followed the Alliance to the Ghimlyt Dark but only revealed himself when absolutely necessary, and he knew why, later, he had circled Coerthas alone in the snow but shunned the city itself. He had… he had to be close. He had to be <em> there</em>, in case he was needed, in case…</p><p>Estinien closed his eyes.</p><p>Ever since Nidhogg’s rage had been excised from his heart had this truth been slowly but steadily growing in its stead. A seed planted long ago, lain dormant until its earth had at last become yielding. He hadn’t anticipated it, could never have anticipated it, and once he’d known for sure he had well and truly <em> fled</em>.</p><p>Until he’d reached the end of the world with nothing but blue waters to the horizon and the Warrior of Light, waiting like a sentinel.</p><p>He sat down on the wall beside her, laying his lance along the ground at their feet.</p><p>“Fury, but you are persistent,” he said. She smiled.</p><p>“I am the Warrior of Light.”</p><p>Even irritable as he was feeling, he couldn’t help but snort a laugh. Of course.</p><p>“You were calling his name in your sleep, during your nightmare,” she said, after a time.</p><p>“Ah.” Well, that would do it.</p><p>They sat together in silence for a while. Eventually, he too turned his eyes toward the sky, blue as Aymeric’s eyes. Beside him, Sparkling shifted and stretched out her legs, crossing her ankles and leaning back on both her palms. She hummed softly.</p><p>“You know, Estinien,” she began, “a funny thing happens every time I go to Ishgard.” Estinien didn’t alter his gaze, but felt his pulse skip in his neck. “Aymeric spends at least twenty minutes cordially inquiring after how I’ve been, how the Scions have been, how my travels have been, if there’s anything he can do for me, and so on and so forth, and when all the necessary pleasantries are finally out of the way he clears his throat and adds something like, <em> ‘Oh and, perchance, if your path has crossed Estinien’s lately, did you find him well?’  </em>Which is exactly how I know that it was the <em> very first thing he wanted to ask</em>.”</p><p>He kept his sight resolutely on the heavens.</p><p>“I thought you should know,” she said. “In case it was doubt that drove you.”</p><p>He swallowed hard.</p><p>“Your impression needs work,” he replied. The roughness around the edges of his voice immediately betrayed how tightly his throat had constricted. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way she arched one black brow at him.</p><p>“You would know.” She sounded amused. “Better even than you’re willing to admit, I’d wager.” She stood and stretched, her long arms lifting over her head. “Well, I should get Picpoule before the stablehands stuff her too full of gyshal greens to walk.”</p><p>He bent to retrieve his lance and stood as well, falling into stride beside her as they returned to Maelstrom Command.</p><p>“Where are you headed after this?” he asked.</p><p>“Ferry to Thanalan, then off to Mor Dhona to check in with Tataru and Krile. Then back to the First to see if any progress has been made on the question of how to bring the Scions home. Among other things.” She signaled to one of the recruits milling about, who quickly ran off toward the stables.</p><p>“How is Alphinaud?”</p><p>“About as well as can be expected for someone who’s had their soul ripped from their body and deposited on a different world,” she replied wryly. Then she sobered. “He has come far since last you saw him. You would be proud of him, Estinien.”</p><p>He looked away from her again, more shame coloring his cheeks.</p><p>“‘Tis not my place to take that pride,” he said.</p><p>Sparkling smiled. “Well, you remain an inspiration to him, as well as an effective invocation when I need to push him along.”</p><p>Estinien furrowed his brows at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>He never got his answer, for the stablehand returned with Picpoule, giving Sparkling a convenient excuse to pretend she hadn’t heard him.</p><p>They descended to the lower decks, boots tromping along the wooden walkways that hovered above the gently glistening water. At the ferry dock, she turned to him, half a smile lifting the corner of her mouth.</p><p>“A certain lord commander once informed me that you dislike emotional farewells, so I will spare you the disgrace of enduring one. Do your best not to get yourself killed, and I shall do the same. Until next time, Estinien.”</p><p>His belly fluttered a little at her mention of Aymeric but he managed to keep a straight face. Taking a deep breath, he summoned what courage he could.</p><p>“Wait,” he said.</p><p>She cocked her head at him.</p><p>“When did you know?” he asked.</p><p>She smiled, eyes sparkling to match her name. “Since we returned from the Aery.”</p><p>Estinien’s mouth fell open. No, that was not possible. How could <em> she </em> have known back then when <em> he </em>hadn’t even…</p><p>“You had always insisted that vengeance was all that mattered to you. And yet, when we feared Aymeric imprisoned in the Vault, you didn’t hesitate.” Her voice softened. “If we had lost, you would have been executed as a heretic, and your chance at vengeance would have died with you. But I don’t think that even crossed your mind.”</p><p>His throat had gone dry, but he still managed to speak. “We had already defeated Nidhogg.”</p><p>“Not for good, and you knew it. The location of the second Eye was yet a mystery to us at that point.” Her smile danced with mirth. “Your priorities betrayed you, my friend.”</p><p>Estinien contemplated that for a moment before the ferry captain’s irritated voice interrupted the little revelation.</p><p>“You gettin’ on, miss, or what?”</p><p>“On my way, sir,” Sparkling assured him. She flashed Estinien a grin and led Picpoule up the gangplank. As the boat left its moorings she leaned over the rail and cupped one hand around her mouth.</p><p>“Don’t be stupid about this, Estinien!” she called. “He carried you off the Steps of Faith in his arms and <em> wouldn’t let me help</em>.”</p><p>He flushed red again and stormed back up the dock, ignoring the turning heads of other passersby, her brash, parting laughter chasing him the whole way to the Fisherman’s Guild.</p><p>Alone again and feeling unexpectedly bereft for it, Estinien climbed back to the upper decks and made his way to the Drowning Wench tavern, where he claimed a small table in the sun and ordered an ale. After everything he’d discussed with the Warrior of Light, he needed a drink. And time to think. Soon enough, the waitress appeared with his order and he fished around in his bag for his coin purse. Something else was tangled up with it, and when he tried to remove it both objects toppled to the floor with a thud. He cursed under his breath as he retrieved them, hurriedly counting out the gil while the waitress tapped her foot. Paid and tipped, she strode off to another table, and Estinien was left to sort his things.</p><p>His money bag he recognized of course, but the second little pouch was unfamiliar. It was fine, soft leather, the top flap folded over and closed with a long leather lace that wrapped over it and wound around a little silver button on the front. He was certain it wasn’t his.</p><p>Curious, he undid the lace, upending its contents onto the table. Three fifty-gil pieces tumbled out, followed by a sheet of paper, folded twice. Brows furrowing, he examined the page. It was the daily airship timetable for Limsa Lominsa. Each departure for Ishgard had been circled in deep blue. At the bottom, in that same blue ink, in heavy, looping handwriting that he recognized, was written a single line:</p><p>
  <em> We fight for those we love. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I always figured that if anyone who isn't Aymeric could yell at Estinien and reasonably expect him to listen, it would be the Warrior of Light. Thank you to my friends for being patient proofreaders (you know who you are), and thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>